Alberta
by Kael-bail
Summary: Written for lj's kink meme. USCan. Mpreg Matthew has US' baby!


The yelling from inside the small townhouse was muffled, but anyone passing by knew what was going on. Recently, every Saturday had been like this; America wanted to go out and party, have fun and drink, while his boyfriend of several months, Canada, wanted to stay home and just watch movies. In the beginning, it didn't seem like much of a fight, and had subsided into rather begrudging agreements. But in the last few weeks…shit had hit the fan.

"I have had it up to here!" America yelled, slamming one hand on the counter, and throwing the other over his head for emphasis. "Every week I bend backwards for you, because you're a recluse hermit! You never want to do anything! You're suffocating me!"

"How am I suffocating you?" The blond muttered quietly, trying to stay calm in the situation, knowing it would smooth over like always. "I never said you can't go-"

"Did it ever occur to you I don't want to go alone?" Alfred interjected, leaning on the counter, blue eyes piercing into Matthew's. "Has it IEVER/I occurred to you that I want to get you out of this house for bmore/b then the damned meetings?"

"I'm not like you, Alfred," he quipped, holding up a hand in silent surrender. "I don't like going out-"

"I know you don't! You sit on your computer and play your damn videogames when I'm not home, and when I am, all you wanna do is watch TV!"

Matthew's brows furrowed a bit at the accusation. "ExIcuse/I me? IYou say I do nothing/I?" Canada straightened his back, so he looked his brother and lover in the eyes. "Who is it that makes sure you're not late? Who is it that makes sure your clothes are clean? Who cooks dinner for you when you're coming home late? Who keeps all your papers in order, as well as set up your presentations for meetings? Tell me, Alfred, who is it who does all that for you?" Not once did Canada raise his voice. There was no yelling from him. Instead, there was a patient tone, like a parent to a child. And IbTHAT/b/I was what set America off.

"That is IT! You wanna guilt me into that then fine! You're useless, self-centered, lazy, and to top it all off, needy as hell! You wouldn't last one day on your own! You, sir, are dependant on Ime/I!" He paused, watching Canada's blank stare. "But I have had enough of you holding me back!" America turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket off a nearby chair. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he pulled of one in particular, and threw it at Matthews feet with a soft Iclink/I.

And then he was gone.

The sound of the door slamming echoed softly in Matthew's ears as he stared at the barrier. It was a long, and solemn moment. There were no tears; Matthew had cried them all last time they fought. There was no screaming; the Canadian's voice felt like sandpaper against his throat, and words felt foreign on his tongue. There were no emotions in his eyes; he was just…blank.

After what felt like hours, Canada made his first movements; his feet shuffled over to the beige couch against the eastern wall, and he sat numbly, grabbing and squeezing the nearest pillow to his chest. It was then, and only then, that he felt the rivers dance on his cheeks, muttering words he knew Alfred would never hear: "I love you, too…"

* * *

Hours faded into days, days into weeks, and before Canada really realized it, weeks had turned into months. The time had melded together into a pile of mushy-time. Most instances he couldn't recall, or rather, he didn't care to. He vaguely remembered Papa France coming to see him a few times, but their conversations had become a blur. The only event he could clearly remember during that time was when England had called looking for America, and the poor blond burst into uncontrollable tears over the phone. In his depression, he had almost forgotten about the G20 meeting, and had to be picked up by Francis, who was exceedingly worried about his "petit garçon".

He was going through his bag in the hotel room, making sure France had helped him pack all the necessary items, when it happened. It was like a wave had crashed over him, sudden and violent. Canada found himself on his knees quickly, clutching desperately at his abdomen. The pain was unbearable; brief thoughts crossed his mind about how this was the end, and that no one would find him until he was dead. The pain subsided slowly, and Matthew braced himself on the edge of the bed, attempting to stand. Something was severely wrong here-severely wrong with Ihim/I. He hadn't the foggiest idea what it was, but knew he needed help. Matthew went to go to the door, only to be hit by another tsunami of pain, sending him into a feeble , trembling ball of pain on the floor. Tears began to well in his eyes; the pain was much more fierce this time around, almost urgent. He choked back a small whimper. "Someone….anyone…please help me…!" He whispered to nothing in particular, rolling onto his side, clutching his stomach and curled into the fetal position.

**_Knock-knock-knock_**

"'allo? Canada? You is coming to the meeting, da?"

Matthew's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expect his weak little prayer to be heard, but the silently thanked any god listening. He opened his mouth to respond, only to expell a yelp of pain. He heard uncertain movement outside from the Russian.

"Canada? Ist everyting okay?"

"Ivan!" The call came out like a sob. "Help me please!"

Matthew had barely even opened his eyes to find himself being scooped up off the floor by the large man, and deposited on the bed gently. Russia was looking at Matthew's face, trying to identify an obvious problem. "What's happening?" He asked, being oddly patient.

"I-I don't know!" Matthew cried, Crying again as another wave of pain made him arch. "Just…hurts so much!"

"Where?"

"My stomach…!"

Almost as though a second thought, Ivan untucked Canada's shirt, lifting it up to expose the blond's stomach. It was faint, almost to faint to notice, but when looking for it, it was obvious: "Canada, you're pregnant, da?" Ivan said it as though it was a known fact, smiling brightly at the younger nation. Seeing Canada's shocked expression, Ivan blinked slowly, before continuing. "You ist in labour, da?"

"I-I-I don't-how-?"

"That how does not matter," Russia muttered, placing a hand gently over Matthew's mouth. "what matters no ist that the baby and momma are taken care of, da?" He smiled softly, before rushing to the bathroom for towels. Surprisingly, Ivan seemed to know a lot about birthing babies, even if it was an unheard of phenomenon from males. It was about 20 minutes in that Matthew couldn't take it anymore, and Ivan decided it was time.

"But…but where is it coming from?"

"Who knows?" Russia proclaimed cheerfully. "We will see when we see. Now push."

After 15 minutes of bloodcurdling screams of pain, which Matthew was afraid EVERYONE could hear, Ivan finally announced he could see the head. "Matthew, you give long hard push, da? Then it be over!"

Canada, who was red, covered in sweat, and exhausted, nodded slightly, taking a deep breath before he started pushing. "HHHnnnnnnGH! !"

* * *

The first thing Canada realized when he woke up was that there was a group of people in the room; in the far reaches of his hearing, he could hear a few voices: Ivan, for sure, maybe China…he was sure he heard Francis and England too…A part of him wanted to tell them all to shut up and let him sleep, until he suddenly remembered why he was sleeping. He was a mother.

The Canadian's blue eyes snapped open, and his body sat up quickly, startling the room's inhabitants. Francis was the first to regain composure, coming to sit on the bed next to Matthew. "Mon enfant, how are you feeling?" Matthew was silent, staring at his "papa" as though he were a stranger. "You've gone through quite and ordeal, oui? Why did you not tell us you were with child?"

Canada's response sounded strange to his own ears: "…I didn't know." It was a long awkward silence that followed, with everyone staring at him, except for Ivan, who was holding a small bundle in his large arms; both China and England looked a little uneasy about Russia holding the newborn, but were too scared to take it from him. The blond looked to Russia, his eyes staring longingly at the bundle; Ivan took the hint, and handed the baby to Francis, who held the baby to face Matthew.

"She is beautiful, non?" France asked, petting a small strand of hair that laid lazily across the baby's forehead. The infant was asleep, sucking on her thumb, rosy cheeks framed by faint strands of blonde. Francis smiled softly. "would you like to hold votre fille, Matthew?"

With shaking hands, the Canadian took the little girl gently, holding her delicately to his chest. Slowly, her eyes opened; bright, opalescent blue orbs looked curiously up at him, and he felt his heart begin to swell, but break all at once. "…hi, my precious thing…" he muttered, a single finger tracing over his cheek; subconsciously, she nuzzled his finger.

"What will you name her?" China quipped from the corner of the room, beaming in delight.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by the door slamming open. "Is he okay?" Everyone stared as Alfred stood in the doorway, panting heavily from the run, Texas slipping down the bridge of his nose. Canada held the baby closer to his chest, curling up and away from America, eyeing him nervously. Francis was quick to notice and got slightly defensive. For once, Alfred held his hands up in surrender. "I would like to talk with Matthew in private. Please." There was a pause, and everyone looked to Canada. Slowly, he nodded. Arthur, Ivan, Yao and Francis slowly moved out of the room, each of them eyeing Alfred cautiously, before leaving the two of them alone.

It was a long silence, the two of them staring at each other. It was broken by the baby girl cooing softly. Alfred walked forward then, sitting a decent distance from Matthew. "…she's mine, isn't she…?"

"Who else would she be?"

"…why didn't you tell me?" he asked after a moment.

"I couldn't." He looked up at Alfred honestly. "I didn't know."

There was another pause, during which, the baby was playing with Alfred's finger, nomming on it.

"…Matthew…can we try again?"

Matthew's head whipped around so fast he thought he would get whiplash. "Excuse me?"

"I want to start over," America muttered. "I made a mistake. And…I don't want to leave a child fatherless."

"Is that the only reason why?"

"Nonono! I wanna be with you, Matthew!" He placed a hand urgently on Matthew's shoulder. "I made a mistake!"

Matthew was quiet. "Well…I'll think about it. In the mean time, please leave Ali and I alone."

"eh?""Ali. Short for Alberta. Her name."

* * *

Her hair was wavy and golden. Her eyes an innocent and beautiful sapphire. Her skin was a bit tanner than her mother's, but she held the same petite structure. Her golden locks glinted in the sunlight as her grand father France pushed her on the swing; her bell-like laughter filled the air around the house.

"Ali!" Matthew called from the kitchen window. "You have a visitor!"

The little girl jumped clumsily into her grandpa's arms, before scrambling back to the house. "PAPA-PAPA-PAPA-PAPA!"

Alfred was standing in the door way of the backyard, his trademark grin plastered on his face. As his little girl drew closer, he scooped her up, spinning her around, making her squeal with delight.

An agreement had been made between Canada and America that day three years ago. Alberta was not to go fatherless, but the relationship was not going to work out; the two nations were too different. However, they did agree that Alfred had every right to see her as he wished; after all, it takes two to make a baby. She called Alfred papa, and Matthew momma, end of story.

For now, the two nations both agreed it was best just to let her live blissfully unaware of the fact that neither of them were together, and that she was being raised by a single mother. Instead, they got together for family celebrations, acting as a family, until she was old enough to understand and make her own decisions.

And they lived happily that way.


End file.
